Labyrinth
by Meowmers
Summary: "Give him back," She demanded, and in a way she was begging, too. Pleading for mercy she knew he hadn't the capacity for. "Hermione," He purred, and his lips stretched over rows of white teeth, baring them in a smile that was too close to a snarl."You know that's not how the game works." Tomione Labyrinth AU


**Summary: "Where am I?" She inquired, and he released her wrists in order to slide his hands into her hair and angle his lips over hers."Home." He breathed. Hermione thought she heard 'Hell.'**

 **(basically a bastardization of the labyrinth story Tomione style)**

 **Idk this got stuck in my head and eventually I had to let it loose! Let me know what you think!**

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She never meant to wish him away. Her whispered words were nothing more than a momentary lapse into the faded text of her favorite bedtime story. She never meant for any of it to come true, for any of it to be real. When she wished him away she didn't mean it—and didn't that mean anything? Didn't it matter that this wasn't what she _wanted_?

Her taste for magic had faded with time as all childhood infatuation does, replaced by her love of learning, of knowledge—and most importantly—of logic. Her taste for dark goblin kings to sweep her away from her dissatisfying cottage life and into a world of magic and wonder had faded as well, she didn't want this, she didn't want any of this!

But her bitterness had taken control of her sanity for a moment, and she so longed for the simplicity of that cottage life she had wished away, before broken promises of marriage and knowledge and happiness and before she was guilted into caring for her best friend's perfect baby boy and she hated this, she hated all of this, and she—

But little James was nowhere to be found, and in the shadowed corner of the room, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the window, someone sinister stood.

And he knew her.

He knew her from late nights as a child learning to read the stories of his evilness. He knew her from the games of Goblin-King her parents would indulge night after night. Her knew her, somehow, as well as she knew him. Did he hate her, then, as she loathed him?

"Give him back," She demanded, and in a way she was begging, too. Pleading for mercy she knew he hadn't the capacity for.

"Hermione," He purred, And his lips stretched over rows of white teeth, baring them in a smile that was too close to a snarl. He was terrifying in the moonlight, cheeks hollow, eyes glistening. Her hands shook and her heart raced and her stomach filled with butterflies. "You know that's not how the game works."

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 _I wish the Goblins would come take you away. Right now._

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She thinks she loved him, in a child-like way, when she was growing up. He was her only friend, after all. A boy in a book who loved her and wanted her—she felt enamored with the idea. In that lonely cottage with only her mum and dad for company, he was something magical and wonderful and only hers, something terrible and evil and cruel who loved her with goodness and kindness and she was enamored with him.

But he was never _real_. Not until now.

The castle from her storybook was so much more frightening in person, looming over her in the night, equally inviting and foreboding, offering her fulfillment of her childhood dreams and salvation for dear little James, or heartbreak and failure.

She was terrified. Her hands would not stop shaking.

But something rose in her, starting in her stomach and quelling the fitful butterflies and humming to her fingertips. Something warm and something fierce. He would not scare her, she decided. He would not scare her away. He would not win.

She heard a cry, high-pitched and familiar. _James_.

"I'm coming, James," She breathed, more of a declaration to herself than to anyone else, and forced her legs to move, forced herself to approach the castle doors, forced herself to start her journey to get that baby back where he belongs—with his parents.

She reached the large wooden doors and tugged as hard as she could. It was no surprise that wouldn't work. He wouldn't make it easy on her. He was a villain after all.

She scaled the castle walls, running her hands along the cold stone to find anything. Was there any other entrance? Was there anything hidden from her sight? She walked and walked and walked around the blasted building and found nothing, no door, no window low enough, no secret entrance, nothing! She swore loudly and kicked the stone.

A loud gong of a clock interrupted her anger, so sudden and so loud that it shook her to her core and the shaking began again. An hour was up, and she wasn't even inside the blasted castle! She gripped her wild hair and pulled, panic overwhelming her senses.

Something dark, something smooth like velvet and cold as ice settled over her, flooding her lungs and slithering over skin, spreading through her veins and overtaking her bloodstream, and she could hear him. A low, deep, subdued laughter that filtered into her subconscious. He was laughing at her. He was enjoying this.

Was he watching her then? Could he see her even now as he relaxed wherever he was in that castle with a baby boy that wasn't his? Was he taunting her, letting her hear him like this? Was he teasing her?

Anger replaced panic and she sprung away from the castle wall. She examined the ground beneath her feet. If there was no entrance, certainly there was some other way? Perhaps a secret entrance wouldn't be within the walls. But in the ground?

How could she find it when these grounds were so massive?

She nearly started digging, simply out of sheer desperation, but the logical side of her knew it was no good. Was there anything she had read? Was there anything she had forgotten?

And suddenly, whether it be fate or luck or magic or coincidence, a small figure climbed out of the ground near a giant tree.

She ran.

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 _Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered_

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"You've met a friend." His voice, as it always did, entranced her for a moment. It wrapped itself around her in a vice and demanded a response. She felt somehow hot and cold at once, warmed from the tone and cold from the knowledge of where the voice came from. He stood behind her, leaning so casually against the castle wall one would never guess he had taken anything from her. Much less a child.

"Dobby." She confirmed. It was no use keeping it a secret. She knew he watched her, could feel his eyes like brushes against her skin, could hear his voice always and everywhere she turned.

"And where is he now?" He asked flippantly. Her eyes narrowed.

"He's terrified," She snapped, "Of you. Of what you'll do to him. He won't risk himself."

He grinned, a terrible sight to behold when the reasons for smiling were so vile. "Shame," He said, while it was clear he felt exactly the opposite.

"Give me back the child." She demanded.

He tutted, pushing himself off the wall to tower over her, "You know that's not how it works."

She gritted her teeth and said nothing.

"You think you'll win," He murmured, "But you have no idea what lies within these castle walls."

"I'll manage." She said, matching his quiet tone. He was close enough that when he smiled again, she could see the shadowed dimple of his left cheek, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She could see the dilation of his pupils and the shallowness of his breath. When had he gotten so close?

"Will you?" He asked, bemused. "Fine." He conjured a clock beside them, thirteen house instead of twelve. When he spoke again, gone was the quiet, gentle tone and instead he bellowed, allowing it to echo throughout the corridor. "Shall we put that to the test?"

The hand on the clock whirled five hours ahead, until she had only six hours left. Terror took hold of her throat. She couldn't breathe.

He said nothing, but smiled, as if he was in control again, as if all he lived for was to see her in pain, in fear. And as filled with terror as she was, she was angry, too. Furious enough that her hands shook of an entirely different feeling altogether, a feeling of murderous rage. He turned from her, as if to leave.

"Wait!" She demanded, or did she plead? It was so hard to tell. She leaped forward, hand outstretched, straining to catch him before he would disappear. Her hand met the flesh of his shoulder—more accurately his clavicle, the small stretch of skin that showed before it was hidden by his ridiculous robes, but there it was. That brief moment of contact, skin-on-skin, of the juxtaposition of terror and fury humming through her veins.

Quicker than she could breathe, he gripped her hand and twisted it behind her back, pushing her backwards until—in two long strides—her back was pressed against the stone wall of the corridor, until her arm was caught between the cold stone and her own heated flesh. Chest to chest, he stared at her with a different look now.

"Six hours" He snarled.

He disappeared.

She shook now, but it was not for anger or fear.

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 _I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City_

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Tom Riddle, King of the Goblins, had toyed with countless humans before. Endlessly, foolish mortals would wish away those they claimed to love. They would arrive here, to fight for them back. To find them. To brave his castle, to find him, and to demand their loved one back.

They all failed.

In truth, he had never expected _her_ to fail.

He expected her to win. He _expected_ it. He didn't like it, as he never liked to be bested at anything, but he expected to withstand humiliation at her feet. He expected her wit and her courage and her determination would force her ahead, and she would win.

He expected to lose to her.

But what he had not expected was her touch, like _fire,_ burning through the skin of his shoulder. He didn't expect the warmth, the strength of her grip. He didn't expect the shock of her skin on his, or the sweetness of her breath, or the _fury_ in her eyes.

Intoxicating. He should have expected it. He didn't, but he should have.

He craved her while she was gone. He soaked up her image from his crystal, watched her with that treacherous little beast, _Dobby_ , and he _wanted_ her. He wanted to feel her skin on his again, wanted to thread his fingers in her hair and pull, wanted to dig his nails into her back and clench his fists, let the blood spill on his hands, let her fire swallow him whole, he wanted—

He shut his eyes and hurled the crystal at the wall. The baby, James, started to cry. The goblin holding him desperately tried to shush the infant.

"Wormtail," Tom called, staring at the shards now scattered across the stone floor.

"Yes, My Lord?" The goblin squeaked. Tom scooped up the shards in his hand, clenched his fist and let the blood run red down his forearm. He pictured her.

"Fetch me some fruit." He paused, thoughtfully, "And Dobby."

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 _to take back the child you have stolen_

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She couldn't recall much.

She couldn't recall anything…

She eyed the peach in her hand and thought, thought so hard about what it was she was doing—wasn't it important? But she couldn't remember, and…

"Dobby…" She murmured, "What was I…?"

But she forgot again. And who was Dobby?

She took another tentative bite of the peach, because if there was one thing she knew it was that she was hungry. And she was alone.

Where was everybody? Where was anybody?

For a time, she wandered. it couldn't have been that long, but it was hard to tell with how alike all the hallways looked. But her peach was still unfinished in her hand while she slowly ate it. She kept forgetting where she was.

She dropped the peach and left it behind.

It was a beautiful castle, she thought. A bit dark, a bit foreboding, could do with some lights, but she thought she rather liked the ominous feeling of it all. She always liked that as a child…

Didn't she?

She was sure she did, but she couldn't remember much…

She saw, at the end of the hall, were two large doors. And she was certain she could hear music. She walked down the long, dark corridor to approach the large doors. Loud, orchestra music floated through the cracks of the doorway. She pushed the big doors as hard as she could.

Inside was magical.

The ceiling looked like the night sky, and candles floating all around without blurring the stars. People were dressed in fine gowns, twirling around the dance floor. She was severely underdressed.

"Hermione," A voice greeted, and as she turned she felt something like a breeze, a shift around her and when she looked down again, she wore a beautiful gown. She eyed the man in front of her.

"Goblin King…" She said, and he looked at her oddly.

"You remember me?" He asked. She nodded, smiling.

"I do," She said, "I don't remember much, but I remember you."

He stepped closer to her, hesitantly lifting a hand and running it up the expanse of her arm. "Dance with me."

He swept her out to the dance floor. The music made the floor hum underneath her feet, and Tom Riddle, the Goblin King, the one person here she was sure she knew, settled one hand on her waist and the other wound its way around her own hand. Her skin tingled where it met his.

But still, she had a feeling in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something…

It felt nice, dancing with Tom. His hand slid around her waist to the small of her back to pull her closer. He watched her with a mischievous glint in his eye, and his lips pulled back over his teeth in a smile.

She slid her own hands up to rest on the bare skin of his throat, and his smile disappeared.

Gently, she curled her fingers against his neck, so her nails rested against the tender column of his throat. Lightly, but hard enough to leave a faint, white mark on his skin that turned a pleasant shade of pink afterwards, she ran her nails down the side of his throat, down his chest.

He moaned, taking her hands in his and drawing them behind her back. He held them there lightly, so she could remove them if she wished, but the position suddenly _reminded_ her of something, something not at all pleasant, and she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was. Her heart suddenly beat wildly in her chest.

His breath fanned against her cheek, as he apparently remained oblivious to her sudden change in demeanor. But regardless of her terror, he felt good against her. His nose bumped with hers, and she tilted up her chin to draw his lips to hers but he evaded her.

Her knees were weak, but she couldn't decide if it was from lust or this unplaceable fear.

"I never expected," He rasped, digging his nails into her wrists, "To _want_ you like this."

She couldn't think of what to say, so she simply asked the question that had been on her mind all along. "Where am I?" She inquired, and he released her wrists in order to slide his hands into her hair and angle his lips over hers.

"Home." He breathed.

Hermione thought she heard 'Hell.'

He didn't kiss her gently, but drowned her in his touch and his tongue and his teeth. She struggled to breathe, struggled to find purchase, her hands shifting from his hair to his shoulders to his sides and his back. He pulled at her hair and fisted his hands in the bodice of her dress.

For a moment, she swore his hair was red, and it ruined her.

She pulled away violently, ripping herself from his clutch, let his nails drag down her forearm as she put distance between then. The people of the ballroom had disappeared. There was no music now.

"No…" She said in a daze, shaking her head, "This isn't…"

He spoke her name, and it felt like a spell, like an enchantment. Like there was magic in his voce, calling her to him. But it was wrong. He wasn't…

Flashes of images were called to her mind. Gentler kisses with a man with red hair, another man with hair as black as Tom's but a far more personable countenance and his own red-headed lover. She remembered a life outside this castle, for a moment and even…

She remembered James.

"How could I forget…?" She murmured, and her expression of regretful confusion gradually melded into murderous rage. "What…what did you _do_?"

He stared at her with an expression ruled by anger and dumfounded awe. He didn't move when she lifted a chair to smash the large stained glass window. He only moved when she jumped.

He didn't catch her.

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 _for my will is as strong as yours_

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Dobby woke her outside the castle walls, sprawled out on the grass. He was crying and wailing and apologizing over and over. _How could I give you to him, How could I give you that peach?_ She pushed herself to her feet and gazed up at the windows. They weren't broken anymore.

"I forgive you, Dobby." She said, and he moaned and wailed and protested, _you shouldn't, oh you shouldn't be so kind!_ And she held his waving hands in her own and said "Sometimes we become afraid and we do what we shouldn't. What matters is you came back. I need you to help me. How much time do we have?"

His large, teary eyes stared up at her. "Dobby believes…an hour, Miss."

She sank to her knees. Looking up at where she came from, where she fell from…how would she ever make it in time? It took her too long to even get to that ballroom! It was her time to submit to tears, sniffling and whimpering as Dobby stared on in shock.

"What shall I do?" She moaned, "I'll never make it. How will I ever face Harry again? Oh, it's not fair, it's not _fair!_ " She felt childish in her grieving, but hopelessness took hold of her and made her forget her normally composed nature. Dobby laid his little hands over hers.

"Dobby will help you." He solemnly swore, "Dobby will right the wrong that he has done."

She laid a grateful kiss on his head.

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 _and my kingdom as great_

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When she faced the devil again, she was almost out of time. She faced him in the owlery, the highest point of the castle, lit only by the light of the early morning. It was barely dawn, the sun was just about to start its ascent, and the soft light of the early hours settled on his features in such a way that she found herself, briefly, mourning his evilness. Why was it that evil had to be disguised in such beauty?

"Hermione," He breathed when she entered. "I knew you would win."

"Did you?" She parried, "You tried quite a lot to ensure otherwise."

He smiled, looking upon her with a fondness she felt disgusted to behold, "I was desperate."

She didn't want to ask him what he was desperate _for_ , as that would bring back memories she hadn't cared to dwell on just yet. Thinking on them, her stomach tightened and her cheeks flushed and such a fierce amount of hatred and something she _refused_ to admit bubbled up inside of her. She felt she might burst.

He felt that in her, without her even saying a word. He smiled quite cruelly at her.

"Give me back the child." She demanded. "I have played your stupid game and I have won. Now give him back."

"Stay with me." He offered instead.

She had expected the offer, of course. She had known he wouldn't take kindly to anyone besting him, and had prepared herself for whatever he may beg or demand in turn. She hadn't, however prepared herself for the look in his eyes or the flush in his cheeks. She hadn't prepared herself for his quick advance until he towered over her again, or his twitchy fingers on her wrist against her racing pulse. She hadn't expected to see him looking so ernest.

She paused. She tried to think of what to say. She searched her mind for any memory from that stupid book that she _swore_ she would burn when she returned home.

"Through…" Her voice broke. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered…"

He flinched, as if slapped, and he looked half panicked half furious with her. "You pretend you are so noble," He spat, "As if you haven't _dreamed_ of this since you were a child, I know your heart, Hermione, I've seen it! You cannot _hide_ that from me!"

"I have fought—" The sun was rising over the horizon, and the sky was alit with pinks and purples and yellows. The wind had started to blow, and the cold bit at her cheeks and her nose.

"You live a miserable life," He continued, his tone as icy as the wind "A failed marriage—"

"I have fought my way here to the castle, beyond—" She shut her eyes in an attempt to shut him out. She pictured the page in her book.

"I can give you everything!" His hands wrapped around her arms and he shook her once before he controlled himself. It forced her to open her eyes again and he wouldn't let her look away. "Everything I have done, I have done for you. Every word I have spoken every breath I have taken has been for _you_. Don't forget that you wished that child away! I only did as you asked!"

"Beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you have _stolen_ ," She gained confidence with her words, with the way he was slowly losing his perfect composure. His hair had fallen from his usual perfect coif and now fell across his forehead as the wind tossed it about. The clouds had come outside, hiding the colors of the sunrise and shrouding them in darkness. The wind continued to roar.

It made her wonder if all of this world really belonged to him, created by him, controlled by him. Had he created it for her, too?

"For my will is as strong as yours," She continued. His nails dug into her arms and she would see their crescent marks embedded in her flesh for days. His face had contorted into something savage and vile, and she thought that perhaps, now, she was finally seeing what he always looked like inside.

"You are nothing without me!" He spat, and funnily enough it sounded like a plea, "I have been a part of you since you were a child. I have _claimed_ you. You are _mine!_ You—"

"And my kingdom as great!"

"Don't say it."

He pleaded. His countenance had cooled and he looked at her like she was the moon and the stars and he was to be cursed forever with darkness.

"Don't say it." He pleaded.

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" _You have no power over me."_

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End file.
